Come Play With Me Again

by Sommer Marsden

  He pulls and drags me with great force.

  Into the niche.

  I resist.

  I pull back.

  I try to destabilise the master from the opposite side with all my gamine strength.

  But it’s too late.

  He has me.

  Who’s clever now?

  (At least my vagina seems to be happy.)

  I’m wrapped in his scent.

  So close.

  I feel the fabric of his charcoal suit rub against my arms. And the top of my legs, a little. Where my skirt got pushed up in the skirmish.

  Game 1 Score: To the Spymaster from the Opposite Side

  For a moment, I just want to lean into him and give it all up. My body is urging me to do that.

  Then my mind starts to scheme again. I’m still in charge.

  Now he has me caught, he manhandles me quite roughly. Bumps and knocks where my body meets historic architecture.

  I feel his hands and his elbows. With a push and a knee up my ass he forces me into the corner of the dark niche where the nice old houses meet.

  My blouse snags on the rough surface of the walls.

  This niche is very deep.

  And escape impossible, with the spy from the opposite side blocking the only exit.

  Just behind me.

  No one will see us, unless they stop directly in front of the niche.

  ‘Got you, my little fox,’ he says. His deep voice sends shudders down my spine. I’m shaking.

  I feel his breath stroking my neck. A brush of the lips? Surely not. I must be lightheaded.

  My vagina says, yes, she would like that. It might lead to more … Shut up down there!

  With quick, practised moves he spreads my arms out along the wall.

  ‘Don’t move.’

  Do I hear a hint of laughter, quickly controlled?

  I obey.

  There’s nothing else I can do.

  My thoughts are racing.

  Oh!

  My cheeky beret is swept off.

  I can hear it land on the ground.

  I liked that beret. It was pretty.

  Then I feel the pressure of his long hand in the small of my back to hold me in check as he picks it up.

  The pressure on my back increases. He examines the beret, running his fingers around the rim, squeezing it, shaking it out. I hear it all. There is no other sound except the faint footsteps of someone passing our niche. Closer than I thought.

  I hardly breathe.

  The footsteps pass.

  Then I hear a tearing sound.

  He’s ripping the seams of my pretty beret. In case I’m hiding something in the lining.

  I hear him snort when he finds nothing.

  The poor torn beret is slapped to the ground.

  ‘Where is it?’ he says. His voice is low. Dangerous.

  I say nothing.

  He leans over me and carefully pulls my blouse out of the skirt. He smooths out the fabric against my waist.

  Then he reaches under my bra and grabs my nipples. Hard.

  Wow, that hurts. I can’t help a quick gasp.

  Again the hint of a laugh. He pulls on those nipples. He twists my whole body from side to side.

  ‘I knew it was you, ma petite,’ he whispers, ‘the moment I saw the shape of these breasts.’

  Pain explodes from my nipples, spreading like twin inkblots all around the curves of my breasts. And inside them, too.

  I feel a little dizzy.

  And very, very aroused.

  Oh, yes.

  My clitoris grows.

  My vagina pulls herself together.

  Cold creeps in from my naked waist but lines of molten metal sear my breasts.

  My breath goes fast and hard.

  ‘You don’t want to talk?’ He lays his chin on my shoulder.

  His cheek touches mine. Soft and close.

  An intimate little moment.

  I close my mouth as firmly as I can. Just in case some sound decides to slip out against my will.

  He gives my nipples another long, painful twist.

  Hot pain spikes through my chest.

  And somehow converts to lust in my clitoris.

  I can feel the moistness gather in my vagina.

  These two are turning into double agents.

  ‘You’ll wish you had,’ he says in that throaty, menacing voice.

  Shivers crawl down my spine.

  And up my thighs, as he lets go of my breasts and runs his hands up my legs.

  And all those shivers can only lead to one thing – the tension inside my pelvis makes my vagina and clitoris want to shake my hips, to jump, to dance …

  But I hold still.

  Lust rises. But no release.

  Now his hands have slipped underneath my knickers. Those beautiful classy knickers from the high-end store. Silk the colour of Wild Vanilla, smoothly fitting at the waist where they meet the equally smooth fabric of my skirt, opening out generously along my hips, almost like a saucy little underskirt. Vintage French.

  Best lingerie in the world.

  He fondles the fabric.

  Don’t say the spymaster doesn’t appreciate beauty.

  I could breathe more now, but I don’t. Instead I go very still.

  My nipples tingle, still inflamed.

  His fingers run over the soft folds of the fabric. The top. The seams.

  If he decides to rip them, too …

  But he doesn’t.

  Instead, he pulls the lovely French knickers down. Slowly, leaving a forensic trace of natural wild fibres on my naked skin.

  As if my secret were to be revealed underneath.

  But underneath the silk is nothing, just my skin.

  Framed by the black stockings.

  Let go, the knickers slide down my legs and sink to the ground around my ankles.

  Other, lesser underpants would cling or restrict, but Wild Vanilla here is too refined for that. It gives in gracefully. (Which is what it was designed to do … )

  The wind gusts into the niche. It’s getting a little chilly here without my knickers.

  I feel his warm hands on my bottom. Just resting lightly.

  Cupping the pert roundness.

  What will he do?

  My vagina is excited. My mind is wary.

  His hands explore the curve of my butt, just touching it lightly.

  Almost as if my body was a work of art, created by an old master.

  He lingers on the curve of my hips, sliding his palms up and down.

  Then he bends over me, close.

  ‘Tell me your secret,’ he says.

  I finally speak.

  ‘No.’

  I know what is coming.

  The anticipation is almost too much.

  Almost. In spite of myself, I enjoy riding the wave.

  My body wants it. Release for that wild (and very non-vanilla) lust that is brewing inside me. Nipples, vagina, budding clitoris, all about ready to explode!

  He roughly pulls my hips away from the wall so that I have to bend forward, butt sticking out. White, tender, soft-skinned bottom, so recently cuddled by natural silk.

  I have to take a few tiny steps back to balance.

  Then he pushes my head against the wall. Quite gently. Doesn’t want to hurt that clever mind inside?

  Even more gently, I ease my feet along the cobbled ground. Millimetre by gentle millimetre, until I am able to step out of my knickers, now lying crumpled around my feet. Don’t think he even noticed. He’s focused on my firm round ass above the naughty stockings.

  Bent over, waiting, I listen hard for what he is doing next.

  I also notice that there is some light coming in through the wall, just at eye height.

  I didn’t notice it when I was standing up, and I’m sure he hasn’t seen it from his much higher vantage point. The wall I’m bent against is not the edge of a house like the other two, or at least this portion isn’t. The light comes from a sm
all slit in that wall. I can see a dark alley beyond. Close. Very close.

  Just as my eyes adjust, something blocks my view. I don’t know what it is but then I hear some muffled sounds. Regular rhythm. One two one two – then the obstruction passes and my sight clears again. Of course! Someone was walking past on the other side, in the narrow alleyway.

  Oh! Oh!

  The impact takes me unawares.

  My right butt cheek burns. I am thrown towards the wall.

  I haven’t been paying attention to what is happening behind me or I would have known.

  Now the other cheek. Whoosh!

  A hard, fast hit.

  He’s slapped me.

  With a powerful blow of his long, open hand.

  I suddenly feel hot all over.

  I can see my breath, tiny white wisps curling out of my mouth.

  But inside I’m hot. Too hot for my pants.

  And now he gets really into it.

  Slap slap slap, his hand on my butt.

  Another shadow passes in front of my eyes.

  Danger shoots through my body.

  This guy is awfully close. Can he hear the slaps? They sound very loud to me, but the passer-by shows no response. The wall must absorb most of the sound just like it muffles his footsteps. He just walks by.

  But there is nothing muffled about the spanking I receive.

  I use my arms to protect myself from slamming into the historic wall.

  With every slap, my bottom responds more strongly.

  This is starting to hurt!

  And with every slap, I get more aroused. My vagina is moisturising herself excitedly.

  My breath comes fast and shallow.

  If anyone were to ask, my vagina and me are ready.

  But the master is only getting started with me.

  He ups the tempo to a furious pace. My vagina wants to melt.

  My bottom wants to explode.

  My breath comes in and out so fast I start to feel dizzy.

  Then he stops. Hands still on my butt cheeks where they landed after the final slaps (so far).

  Once again, he leans forward and rests his cheek against mine.

  His voice rasps close to my ear.

  ‘You little bitch,’ he says. ‘I’m going to get you.’

  I say nothing, I don’t move.

  He steps back and slaps me again. This time on the side of my hips.

  Much more painful.

  I can’t help a gasp. And another. And another.

  He laughs now, outright. Short and sharp.

  Sharp as the strokes now raining on my hips, and the top of my thighs, where the stockings expose more nakedness.

  I notice he only hits me where my skin is bare.

  He is practised at this craft.

  But I am practised too.

  I feel the fire on bottom, hips and thighs.

  Millions of nerve endings are on the alert, sending messages. The ones to my brain are lost. All I can feel is the message to my clitoris and vagina. They feel flammable as well.

  My breath gets hot. I pant against the clammy wall.

  Still, no one hears us.

  The spymaster laughs.

  That drives me on.

  Vagina and clitoris drive me insane.

  Come on, come on …

  He stops.

  In the sudden silence, I can hear footsteps on the other side of the niche.

  The side of the open and very public street.

  It’s a long shot, but all it would take would be for someone to stop right in front of the niche and – look in.

  What would they see?

  A well-dressed gent and a half-naked gamine, with no knickers and a very red butt.

  That makes me even hotter. Who would have thought that was possible?

  It’s a wonder there’s no steam coming out of my vulva. Or my belly button – the heat has crept all around my stomach.

  The silence just outside the niche continues.

  The spymaster moves behind me. He spreads out his arms and legs so that I’m covered.

  If someone was to look in now, all they would see would be the back of a tall man, leaning against a historic wall.

  I wonder what the passer-by would think? I know it’s against the law here to urinate in public. It would ruin the paintings. Is the master taking a risk? To protect me? Or to keep me to himself?

  I could cry out, but I don’t. Instead, I let him.

  And hold still in silence.

  Our shared tension is almost unbearably erotic.

  But it doesn’t last. The footsteps resume, then recede.

  Coincidence.

  Unless the good citizen also wanted to relieve himself but remembered his civic duty.

  The master laughs.

  He grabs hold of my hair and pulls me roughly towards him. I hope my wig will hold.

  ‘Have you had enough yet, ma petite?’

  Then he forces me back into position and devotes himself to the task in hand. His hand.

  This time, the slaps come without rhythm. He hits me when I least expect it. My butt quivers. I know he’s watching me for the signs.

  But it doesn’t matter. My butt is on fire, my vulva is flushed and big. My clitoris is expanding. She pulses with a rhythm of her own.

  All it takes is for him to stop, just for a little, and run his fingers over the burning marks his open hand has inflicted on my ass. My body responds with a red-hot burning inside, all the way up my spine.

  All it takes is to run those fingers further down and push his hand between my legs.

  All it takes for him to whisper ‘Give me what I want or you’ll wish you had …’

  And I come.

  Wow!

  Into his hand.

  Against the wall.

  My body buckles and slips. He catches me by pressing his full body weight on me. His suit roughens my skin, already swollen from the spanking.

  My hips contract and I come and come, forced into the cool irregular stone of the wall.

  I’ll bear the imprint on my front for a while.

  It’ll be a mark of pride.

  Then I stop thinking and ride with my own rhythm, the wild and furious dance of my vagina.

  I continue long after he withdraws his hand.

  His cock is hard, I can feel it bulge against my butt from underneath his pants.

  That spurs on my vagina once more.

  My turn to laugh but only inside.

  That laugh calms my breath, and the excitement of my vagina.

  We are sated. We feel at ease with the world (and even with this niche). We want to relax and have a cup of café crème.

  Instead, there is new movement at my back.

  What now?

  There’s nothing more to be done here.

  Is it not time to pass on to the next stage of the game?

  Ah …

  Amazing how fine your hearing can be in a confined space.

  I hear him take a step or two back, and then I hear the unmistakable sound of a zip.

  Being opened.

  Ah …

  Can it be that a bout of creative spanking and the delightful view of my reddened butt cheeks is too much for the iron control of a spymaster from the opposite side?

  Oh, yes.

  Oh, yes.

  I hear him fumbling with his belt and with the front of his underpants.

  It seems it’s urgent.

  For me, of course, there is no urgency now.

  I can take it or leave it.

  Well, it seems, as I feel his grip on my arms again, and then as he forces me to bend even further forward, that I am going to take it. Him. His cock and himself.

  My post-orgasmic body feels fine about that. And him. Why not?

  My vagina opens wide. She’s in a generous mood.

  He rams his penis in, fast and hard. Very hard.

  Oh, yes, there’s urgency.

  All right. I’m ready for a new round.

&nbs
p; And for a new game, which I will set myself.

  Game 2

  I smell his scent.

  I feel his breath on my neck, much faster now. He must be pretty heated up himself.

  I feel his deep thrusts up my vagina.

  As if he hadn’t expended enough energy in the spanking, the spymaster puts his all into this task.

  This time I don’t slam into the bricks. He holds me firmly against his hips. Doesn’t want to lose depth while he’s thrusting.

  And my pelvis contracts again. I respond to his rhythm. I can go as fast as he can. I’ll show him.

  He’s doing well.

  He’s a high-class performer. My vagina is happy to encourage him.

  He feels it and varies the angle, forcing me into whatever position he likes. Pressing my butt into his hips.

  He holds me tight. No fear of falling.

  And no fear of discovery, it seems. His turn to pant. Quite freely.

  His thrusts are getting deeper.

  His breath is heavy.

  I hear a low growling in his throat.

  Me too. Oh, yes, me too.

  My vagina sucks him in with renewed vigour. She pulses with thousands of applauding nerve endings. It’s a mass rally. For more of him! More more more …

  More from the master of the opposite side (so to speak).

  And I get it.

  But …

  Another wriggle and a wrench. Another change of position.

  I’m at eye height to the slit in the wall again. Lots of nothing. Empty space.

  But then another glimpse of a passing pedestrian – he’s walking very slowly. Why?

  Then he turns and looks around.

  His eyes almost meet mine, through the slit.

  My body is shot through with electricity.

  Danger! We would both be helpless now, if discovered.

  But of course this good citizen can’t see me either. He’s just looking at a wall.

  And further down.

  He calls. He calls? Who is he calling?

  Wow, danger is a sexy drug. Makes your brain flare into overdrive.

  The master takes his cue from me. And it seems he can still up his fire power.

  He thrusts and retracts with enviable verve.

  The guy on the other side of the wall starts to whistle, then turns.

  A smaller shape runs past.

  He was calling for his dog!

  I can’t help it, I laugh.

  The laughter makes my stomach shake.

  The master holds me tight and grips my breasts. Again. Poor sore nipples.

  My breasts grow hard and full.

  He fucks me harder.

  Wow. This must be an all-time record.